As I drove myself to a local hospital in excruciating pain on April 14, 2011, I couldn’t have imagined how my life was about to change. Over the next few days, doctors removed ten inches of my infected lower intestine and I nearly died from complications. After nine days of hospitalization, I’d shed over twenty pounds and become a shadow of my former self. Miraculously, I survived and doctors sent me home.

From there, things only got worse. Insomnia took over my life, followed by strange, paralyzing seizures. Seeking help, I bounced from hospital to hospital and then in and out of psych wards as my mind collapsed for unknown reasons. Before long, I was committed against my will to a high-security psychiatric facility and stripped of my Second Amendment right to bear arms despite the fact that I had never owned a gun or committed an act of violence.

During my ordeal, I sacrificed many things that I held dear and lived in places unfit for the lowliest criminal. Nevertheless, I am not one to give up. I pulled myself up from the abyss and didn’t stop there—I went a step further to make things right.

I welcome you to join me on my journey of madness and redemption as I lose all sense of the real world and then struggle back to normalcy, forfeit my freedom and then fight to regain it. Aim for Justice shares an unforgettable journey that sadly, in this age of questionable medical and mental health treatment, could happen to anyone.

Years ago, after an unexpected surgery, I became manic. At the peak of mania I experienced life like a child living it for the first time. Back then, I frequently felt goosebumps, chills and wonder despite the fact that I was confined in a high-security psych ward.

Eventually, court-ordered medication “cured” me by thrusting me into an emotionally flat state I referred to as “the verge of tears.” Under the drug’s influence, my world lost its former vibrancy. Adrift and dispirited, I longed to feel goosebumps, chills and wonder once more.

Desperate to escape my passionless prison, I sought passage back to those manic pleasures. I read books, watched videos and browsed the internet to find a pathway. Was it the touch of God? A spiritual awakening? What contemplative sages had sought for millennia? Months passed without an answer and I eventually accepted my numb life—until my heart began to fail.

Without warning, I found myself in an ambulance with sirens wailing and lights flashing rushing toward an emergency room. Upon arrival, the medical staff whisked me away as if I were at death’s door. Tests revealed that my heart rate was a mere thirty beats per minute—when it beat at all. In no time, a doctor delivered the diagnosis: the atrium of my heart had ceased functioning.

With defibrillator pads affixed to my chest and side and a plethora of electrodes tethered to the lifesaving equipment surrounding me, I gravely awaited the root cause. When the answer came, I was not surprised: the medication I had grown to hate was killing me. A cardiologist abruptly discontinued it and admitted me to a telemetry ward where nurses monitored me for three days while my body detoxified.

Once freed of the medication, my mind soared once more and I relived the feelings I had so obsessively sought. I told no one for fear of being committed again or forced to endure yet another poison. When I finally stabilized, I described my temporary ecstasy to my wife as “a state of grace.”

No longer numbed by drugs, I subsequently felt the feelings regularly. As I basked in their glory, I wondered: could meditation take me increasingly heavenward?Or would I, like countless addicts, wind up chasing an unsustainable high? Reluctantly, I eschewed temptation.

Over time, I noticed what triggered them: seeing a beautiful photograph; reading a moving story; watching an inspiring movie; riding a motorcycle through snow-capped mountains; standing on the edge of the Grand Canyon; witnessing the splendor of the Taj Mahal.

Recently, I read an article in which people described similar feelings: being unaware of day-to-day worries; a deepening of the senses; a feeling of oneness with life; goosebumps; chills; tears of joy… The word that they universally used to describe their experiences jumped from the page and I knew that my search was over. I could not believe that three simple letters could embody what I felt: awe.

Good mental health is one of the most valuable aspects of the human experience. Sufferers of mental health disorders often face issues that leave them feeling isolated, alone and afraid. In this post, we will examine some of the biggest misconceptions about mental illness.

It’s someone else’s problem

This attitude prevails among people who have never suffered from mental illness. It only happens to someone who is genetically predisposed—it will never happen to me. This couldn’t be further from the truth. Mental illness can result from disease; drugs, alcohol, or even adverse reactions to commonly prescribed medications. To put it bluntly, anyone can become mentally ill at any time, even with no personal or family history of mental illness.

I’m all alone

Did you know that nearly a quarter of U.S. citizens will experience a mental health crisis in any given year? Sufferers of mental illness frequently feel that they are alone, that no one can understand what they are going through. They feel isolated, embarrassed, or ashamed. To them, I say this—you are not alone: comfort and support are all around you in the form of family, friends, medical and mental health personnel, and support groups. There are also many help lines that you can call. Realize that you are not the first person in the world to suffer from mental illness. Plenty have gone before you, paving the way for your help or recovery.

Mental illness? You’re fired!

A general misconception is that people who suffer from mental health issues cannot work or hold a job, or that if an employer finds out, they’ll be fired. In reality, many mental illnesses can be treated so effectively that employers or co-works may not even be aware that there is anything wrong with a person. In many cases the treated sufferer is a better performer than their co-workers.

In addition, the Americans with Disabilities Act and the Equal Employment Opportunity Act both prohibit discrimination against people with mental disabilities in the workplace. In fact, employers who are made aware of the illness are required to make accommodations, including: modifying job requirements; providing necessary paid leave for treatment or hospitalization; and allowing flexible hours in order to attend medical, psychological or psychiatric appointments.

I lost seventy two days of work because of my own mental illness. After returning, my employer made accommodation in my workload, allowing me the time I needed to fully recover. For the next six months, I had blood drawn every two weeks to test my medication levels and I saw a psychiatrist every month. No one ever questioned the hours I missed from my job.

When you consider that stress, anxiety and depression are all commonplace in today’s work environment, it’s highly likely that you are already working with someone who suffers from mental illness.

No one will be my friend

People often refuse to admit that they are mentally ill believing that others will treat them differently. It can be terrifying to share that there is something wrong with you. However, you must remember that in most cases, telling people about your mental illness is the only way to open the door to a healthy discussion about it. Once your illness is in the open, you will no longer feel isolated. Frank discourse can strengthen friendships and relationships by putting a name on the elephant in the room. More than likely, those people already knew that something was amiss with you, but were themselves too afraid to ask.

I will never recover

If you broke your arm, it would heal. You would witness the cast and the healing process on a daily basis. Once the cast is removed, a doctor will monitor the arm for a time to ensure proper healing. Before long, you’ll be swinging a tennis racket or golf clubs again. It’s the same with mental illness.

The vast majority of mental illnesses are either treatable or curable. Even the most extreme sufferers, who at one time were committed to high security psychiatric units where they were considered a danger to themselves and others, and persistently and acutely disabled, can go on to live normal lives. I know because I am one of them.

Psychological, pharmaceutical and natural treatments are improving all the time. There has never been a better time to receive more effective treatment or be cured.

I’ll be on medication for the rest of my life

More often than not psychiatrists convince patients that they must constantly be medicated or they will become worse. The powerful medications they prescribe frequently cause severe side effects, which must be treated with additional powerful medications. Rarely, those medications result in permanent disability.

Times are changing. More and more, scientific studies are showing the effectiveness of natural treatments using diet, exercise, meditation, Cognitive Behavioral Therapy, acupuncture, Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing and more. Scientists are discovering the body’s incredible ability to heal itself, given the chance.

A psychiatrist once told me that I’d be medicated for the rest of my life. When the medication she prescribed nearly killed me, I refused to take anything else and she dropped me as a patient. I’ve been medication free ever since—for nearly five years—and no longer suffer from mental illness.

I encourage you or anyone you know suffering from mental illness to investigate naturopathic and natural solutions as well as conventionally accepted ones. Your treatment may be easier and healthier than you can imagine.

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To anyone suffering from mental illness, my heart goes out to you. I wish you the best on your journey toward the normal life that I am confident will one day be yours.

This morning, I pondered the differences between my two novels: Detour from Normal and The Road to Amistad. Joined at the hip in many regards, these novels are nonetheless as different as night and day in a certain respect: one is about being alone and the other is about being together.

In Detour from Normal, I was thrust from normalcy into a life of cold, heartless professionals and the tragically mentally ill. A normal person in my place would feel frightened and alone, and many of the experiences I described are from a solitary perspective. Instead of feeling terrified, I felt at peace, and at times, blissful. A mysterious process had freed me from judgment, expectations, worry and fear.

That mindset allowed me to befriend people who were toothless, foul-smelling, crippled, rude or unable to communicate—people I would never associate with before. My best friend was a drug addict recovering from his eighth relapse who had lost his job, savings, car, home, wife and family because of addiction. Through different eyes, I found these people funny and interesting, and for those among them who felt frightened and alone, I became their guardian angel. It was an immensely freeing experience and I could not help but imagine what the world would be like if everyone could live life as I did then.

The Road to Amistad explores just such a scenario. People from all walks of life were spontaneously freed from their mental prisons and introduced to my world overnight. Unfortunately, their changed mindset more often than not led to heartache as family and friends demanded the return of their absconded loved ones.

A few managed to avoid that struggle and find a unity of spirit with others like themselves. Friendship and trust thrived regardless of former walls that separated them. They were magnets to each other, formed strong friendships and accomplished great feats together. None among them ever felt separate or alone.

Nowadays, it is difficult for me to tread the line between alone and together. I have a wife, children, friends and a full-time job. There are many rules and walls that impede me and I have limited time and resources. It would be easier to abandon my vision and rejoin my former world, but I don’t want to close doors—I want to open them. I don’t want to be alone—I want to be together. I want to be part of something big.

I hope that you will read both Detour from Normal and The Road to Amistad and open your mind to possibilities that are ours for the taking. If my message rings true, press the button; twist the throttle; swing; jump; do whatever it takes to begin your own journey, and as you go forth, spread the word so that you may do it together instead of alone.